


Shoppe

by yeaka



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: A Link Between Worlds, The Legend of Zelda: Hyrule Warriors, The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-12 00:24:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11725677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Ghirahim starts on Ravio.





	Shoppe

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Thanks to pttucker for the “plot.” 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Legend of Zelda or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Ravio winks at Link as he pulls on his purple jacket over his work attire, the bright colour clashing horribly against the rest of his business clothes, and Ghirahim has to fight the urge to roll his eyes. Link doesn’t bat an eyelash at his ‘friend’—but then, he hardly reacts to anyone. Certainly not to Ghirahim’s several months’ worth of flirting. Ghirahim’s not certain if Link and Ravio are even actually friends or if Ravio’s just worn him down.

But it’s not Ghirahim’s problem anymore—he’s given up on Link. Ravio looks just like him anyway—just as cute, just as sexy, just as strangely handsome and beautiful and all those good things rolled into one. Except Ravio was damn easier to seduce, and by the time Ghirahim finally asked Ravio out, Ravio squealed, _“sure!”_ without hesitation.

And Ghirahim has the nagging feeling that he could walk Ravio back to his apartment right now and ravage his scrumptious co-worker on the couch, but that would be too easy. The seduction’s half the fun. And Ghirahim doesn’t want a one nightstand—he likes to _own_ the toys he plays with. He figures it’ll only take a few nights to secure that anyway. Ravio has none of the walls his look-alike does.

As soon as they’re out of the building, Ravio clings to Ghirahim’s arm, wrapping both arms suddenly around it and wrinkling the grey designer suit Ghirahim wore for just this occasion—not that he doesn’t always dress smartly for work. There’s a reason he makes more than the rest of them, even if they don’t know it. He knows how to play his cards. He’ll probably be running the place soon, having too much fun lording it over the others. Oblivious to all the sinister power schemes always running through Ghirahim’s mind, Ravio chirps brightly, “So, Mr. Demon, where are you taking me tonight?”

The ‘demon’ title gives Ghirahim a bit of a snort. He’s not sure if it’s supposed to be a jibe or not, but he takes it as an affectionate nickname. Ravio called him that on the first day on the job—because apparently that’s what Ghirahim’s purple eyeliner made him look like. Apparently, Ravio likes nicknames. And apparently he’s got a double standard, because the dumb purple jacket he actually shows up to work in is far more garish than Ghirahim’s eccentric fashion taste has ever been. 

As for an answer, Ghirahim purrs: “For a treat.” Ravio’s green eyes flash brightly, pink lips grinning expectantly. Ghirahim has several options planned, but Ravio’s reaction to the first place will dictate which branch they follow for the rest. 

As Ghirahim guides Ravio down the block and starts across the street, Ravio asks, “What kind of treat?”

“Something sweet,” Ghirahim coos, because Ravio can be sickeningly sweet when he wants to be. Ravio giggles, telling Ghirahim this was the perfect choice, and then they’re in the tourist district, still close enough to work that Ravio will probably know their destination.

Sure enough, when Ghirahim stops them outside Kakariko Cream, Ravio makes a little, “Oooh,” noise. Ghirahim steps forward to open and hold the door for Ravio, who confides quietly, “I’ve only been in here once before, but I left right after; they’re crazy expensive!”

Ghirahim makes a conscious effort to keep his grin from growing too predatory. As he follows Ravio in, he silkily supplies, “My treat.”

Just as he expected, Ravio looks at him with awed glee, and Ghirahim instantly knows he’ll be getting lucky later. He had a feeling money was something Ravio liked. When Ravio moves towards the counter, Ghirahim follows, slipping his arm smoothly around Ravio’s waist, and Ravio makes no move to pull away.

The tiny shop has a few small tables behind them, gleaming white and filled—despite the price, the place is _always_ filled. But the front space is taken up with one long stretch of counter, with glass panels shielding the ice cream and toppings beyond. There are fifty different flavours, all listing gourmet ingredients, with recommended combinations and separated hand-painted signs. Ravio eyes all of them, then looks at Ghirahim again, as though double-checking permission, and Ghirahim smiles back like a benevolent God. 

The well-toned blond behind the counter moves from the register over towards them, sparing a second to give Ghirahim a dark look. But Volga’s always moody, especially when Ghirahim brings in new boy-toys. Ravio doesn’t seem to notice, instead leaning over the curved glass and asking slyly, “Sooo... how much exactly are you treating?”

“Anything and everything,” Ghirahim answers. “Get whatever you like.” Something about Ravio’s face says that could mean the whole shop, but the more Ghirahim sees the jealous irritation in Volga’s eyes, the more it seems worth it. It reminds Ghirahim just how _damn cute_ Ravio is. And he seems like _fun_ too. Ghirahim lives for certain kinds of fun. 

Without sparing Volga a single look, Ravio taps the glass and says, “Okaaay, let’s start with a scoop of Goron-Ground Mocha, in a waffle cone—no, a waffle bowl—with a side of triple fudge drizzled in the dark chocolate sauce and two scoops of Hateno Hazelnut on top, then a half slice of the Rito Raspberry, with half strawberries and cream sprinkles and half regular rainbow sprinkles.” Volga’s already scrambling around to get the order, and Ghirahim, silently snickering at it, doesn’t mention that usually patrons are supposed to start on one side of the counter and slowly make their way to the other, working _with_ the person serving it. Ravio’s clearly a man who knows what he wants, not to mention a man all too willing to utilize another’s rupees, and then adds, “Oh, and a scoop of the Chocolate Chunk Mint—the coconut cream one—and another drizzle of chocolate sauce on top of the sprinkles, but white chocolate for that.” Volga looks up from his work to glare daggers, but Ravio’s already glancing aside at Ghirahim to sigh, “Thanks, Mr. Demon.”

“Lord,” Ghirahim adds. Ravio tilts his head adorably, and Ghirahim elaborates, “If I must be a demon to you, let it not be just any old demon, but the lord of them. Or king, if you like, but ‘lord’ has a much nicer ring to it, don’t you think?”

Ravio just chuckles, “Keep treating me to treats, and I’ll call you whatever you like.” The wink that follows denotes a lot more than the work-safe nickname. 

It takes Volga several minutes to put together the order, during which Ravio stares eagerly at his forming dessert and Ghirahim keeps his arm draped around Ravio’s middle-back. He considers dropping his hand just a _bit_ lower to enjoy Ravio’s taut rear, but he ultimately decides not to push his luck—and to save that particular delight for later.

When Volga’s finally handing Ravio the waffle cone bowl over the register, Ghirahim fishes in his pocket for his wallet, then his wallet for his card. Without asking for a separate spoon—or any spoon at all, since Volga didn’t offer one—Ravio asks Ghirahim, “Want a lick, Mr. Demon _Lord_?”

Ghirahim chucks the card across the desk and bends forward, letting his tongue lap out to flatten right through the drizzled chocolate. Warm, it’s already hardening against the frozen cream beneath, and a numbers of sprinkles stick to Ghirahim’s tongue. He sucks it back inside to pointedly lick his lips. Ravio’s eyes are sparkling. 

He notes, a tad breathless, “I never noticed just how... ah... _long_... your tongue was before...”

Ghirahim purrs, “That’s just the beginning.”

Volga hands back his card, and Ghirahim turns to guide Ravio towards a table, wondering idly just how many licks it’ll take to have this delectable little treat eating out of the palm of his hand.


End file.
